A Desperate Time
by Denver Bloom
Summary: It is a time of great loss as the heroes of the Galactica must forge an alliance with a utopian society that is determined not to become embroiled in a conflict with the Cylon Empire.


As you read this story, you might notice that it isn't quite complete and that there might be several areas that could definately use some improvement. This is to be expected, as I've never written a Battlestar Galactica story before. If you see an opportunity to improve a part of the story, feel free to share your suggestions or insights. I welcome all your help. 

Prelude 

Evidently, Baltar was tired. 

He lost no time pointing this out to the cylon that attempted to wake him, adding a scowl of displeasure for emphasis. Unfortunately, the cylon either didn't care or was not programmed to empathize. Instead, it persisted on repeating the request that Baltar follow him to meet with the Imperious Leader, leader of the entire Cylon Empire. Baltar only scowled in response and pulled the covers tighter about himself, hoping that the mechanical monstrosity would be confused by this action and exit to seek further orders, giving him at least another five minutes to prepare for the the inevitable. 

The cylon, however, was undaunted and removed the bedsheets, repeating his request emotionlessly, allowing the cold air of the room to assault the shivering human mercilessly. Unfortunately, since cylons could not feel cold or hot, they have assumed that humans were equally as unnaffected by the temperature of their surroundings. 

"Damned unfeeling monsters. At least you could put on some heat in my own quarters!" 

The machine looked at him, analyzing his behavior, "the room's temperature is not harmful to humans, and is just above the minimum required for human efficiency, Lord Baltar." 

"Damn lot you know about efficiency," he countered, but instead of carrying the debate any further, he resigned himself to accepting the situation he was in. The cylons, for all their intellect and logic, seemed incapable of understanding human frailties. 

He was old, weakened by both time and humiliation. His skin was opaque and covered with wrinkles along with other indicators of aging. What nature hadn't done to him the Cylons have, through a poor diet and insufficient care. Right now a cold room could easily weaken his immunity leaving him vulnerable to all manner of illnessess, some of which were quite fatal. He considered the possibility that this was intentional on their part. Perhaps the Cylons believed that Baltar would be able to give them the key to a swift and decisive victory against humanity after which he could die of pnuemonia for all they cared. 

Except the war has gone on for nearly a decade since "enlisting" his aid. 

He put on his shoes and coat, running an emmaciated hand through what little hair remained on his gaunt head, and allowed the Cylon to lead him to meet with the Leader. 

After walking through a series of halways which he once learned were built specifically for him so that the cylons wouldn't be subjected to the presence of a inferior being, he was directed to a doorway that opened just as he arrived. He bowed politely, even though it seemed to have little impact on these machines, and stepped inside before stopping in shock. 

There, standing before the Imperious Leader were five strange cylon creatures that he had never seen before his life. Their design was as alien as they were horrifying. While they maintained the characterstics common to most bipeds, they looked nothing like the humanoids that he had been familar with all of his life. In the past, even the ocassional improvement still retained a familiar design, but this was something altogether different. 

He wiped his brow nervously, standing as far from these strange machines as he could, his voice cracked with age and fear, "as you command, Imperious Leader. " 

The Leader stepped to the side and stared intently at Baltar, assessing his reaction carefully, "what do you think, Baltar? These models have just been approved for construction this morning." 

"I-I was not aware of any such... things," he stammered, unable to take his eyes off the terrors he faced. 

"I know," said the crafty creature that genuinely seemed to enjoy Baltar's discomfort, "these were special designs which I chose not to bring to your attention until now. I improved some of the appendages to meet the demands required for combat duties against humans. I felt that the old features simply slowed down our efforts, preventing us from succeeding in our campaigns against your species." 

"That's not all you did," Baltar admitted. 

The five monsters that stood before him were almost demonic in appearance, apparently meant to bring fear into their opponents. The first, had a almost animal-like look from the waist up. Sort of like a bull with a human head, almost similar to the minotaur of the ancient legends. The rest were even more horrid, one possessing a sepentine-quality and another seemed to have no recognizable shape, yet it was just as menacing as the rest. It's single red eye seemed fixed on him as if waiting for the order to strike. 

"Oh, yes. Their appearances were also improved. I took your advice and considered the applications of human psychology when making these soldiers. I believe that their appearance alone should easily have an impact on the human morale along with some of the more..... inhumane.... methods of killing that I've also programmed them with. Would you care to see a demonstration that I have recorded?" 

Baltar swallowed hard, fully aware that he was the only human in the room, surrounded by five new machines of death and shook his head, hoping to avoid witnessing what these creatures were capable of. However, the Leader ignored him, activating a sensor that brought three viewscreens to life, each offering a different angle of the same disturbing demonstration. In less than a minute, Baltar was on his knees, as the waves of nausea caused him to empty what little food he had in his stomach. 

"How long..." he started. 

The machine finished for him, "how long have I been planning this? Why, from the day I met you, Baltar. I knew that if I studied you long enough, I would learn everything I needed in order to ensure the most efficient method of ending the hopes of humanity, and deliver a crushing blow not only to all mankind, but put an end, once and for all, to the Galactica and all that she represents. I'm going to snatch hope from them and leave only bitterness and defeat in it's place. As a result of these new cylons, the humans will be utterly demoralized long before we eradicate the last of them from the universe." 

Again Baltar swallowed, as he went over the past ten years in his mind. All at once, he realized that the true reason they have kept him alive wasn't for his unique insight on humanity, nor for any of his keen strategies. They kept him alive to study. Like some form of laboratory animal, testing him at each turn, and now that they have achieved success, the cylons considered him, like the rest of humanity, obsolete. 

The old man that had once been a proud and defiant human being, looked up from the floor realizing that his time was at an end. Where once he would have shouted challenges, he now wept. Where he once have promised anything to save his own life, he now gave up all hope. Nothing he said or did at this point would change the minds of the machines in the room with him. All he had now was a lifetime filled with regrets for every misguided choice he had made. In the end, he realized that he was simply a coward who's luck had just run out. 

The five machines turned to face him in unison, each machine's single eye wavering from side to side. On some hidden signal they moved in on the human as he scrambled for the doorway, attempting to escape. His heart sank as the door no longer responded to him, leaving him trapped with the approaching terrors. 

Baltar quickly learned that horror is a most effective weapon. Horror combined with unimaginable cruelty. The machines worked to keep him alive as long as possible while doing things to him he never dreamed of, prolonging his terror. Prolonging his screams. 

In all, he lasted less than three minutes. 

"Take him away. He is useless to us." 

Several machines entered obediently to remove the body and cleaned the floor of it's spilled blood. The five deadly machines left the room, eagerly anticipating the next round of executions. 

Once alone, the Leader remained in contemplation as another machine entered and stood beside him, "do you think it is wise to kill him before we have managed to destroy the Galactica?" 

Without looking in the newcomer's direction, the Leader stared at the area that was still stained with the pale impression of human blood, "oh, if we ever need him again, then we will simply clone him. I trust you have managed to get a sample of his complete cerebral and nueral patterns?" 

The two shared a look that seemed like a pair of conspirators laughing at a private joke. 

end prelude. 


End file.
